


Perfect

by LillsBills



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Character Death, F/M, I'm Sorry, Illnesses, Malfoy Manor, Not Happy, POV Narcissa, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26421514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillsBills/pseuds/LillsBills
Summary: There is an unexpected and unknown guest at Malfoy Manor one stormy evening that may lead to a past and future that the Malfoys could ever imagine.Warning: Character death.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 62
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I hope you are all doing well and are staying safe! 
> 
> This fic isn’t going to be very long (3 chapters) and I thought I should throw out this first chapter.
> 
> NOW WARNING: This is a tragedy and there is Major Character death so if you have an aversion to this kind of fic, please do not read it. 
> 
> For whatever reason I’m incapable of writing anything happy at the moment and every new fic I’ve been working on in the recent past is hella depressing. Sorry. 
> 
> Thank you and as always, enjoy! 
> 
> P.S. If you have any happy/fluffy fics you can recommend, please do.

It was late in the evening when the storm began. It was raining in Britain, but then again, when wasn’t it? It was reported that a storm was headed to Wilshire, but this was more than anyone was expecting. The sky was a deep grey, and the sun was no where to be seen. 

Narcissa sat comfortably in the tea room, sipping a nice floral earl grey before dinner was announced. It had been so quiet in the manor in the 18 years after the war. After the trials and house arrest, the Malfoy’s didn’t have many friends left. 

Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco, were for the most part, all alone. Sure they still had acquaintances, but it wasn’t quite the same. No parties, no visitors, and not a single person to care outside of their little family. 

There was a small thud across the tea room and from her place on the lounge Narcissa could hear Draco speaking to his darling ex-wife in the drawing room. 

It had been years since their separation and subsequent divorce. 

She was off to trollop about once again with Nott, no doubt. 

The lady of the house fiddled with the Black Family ring she wore that would have been Astoria’s had she birthed an heir.

Narcissa heard the floo roar into life, and she sighed. The blond witch stood her heals clacking against the cold stone floors of the manor, the sound bouncing off the walls of the too quiet rooms. Narcissa poked her head into the drawing room, where Draco sat staring at the fireplace. 

“Draco, dear,” Narcissa began as cooly as she could, “was that Astoria leaving?”

Draco sighed, resigned, “Yes, mother, you know it was.”

Narcissa inspected her nails, holding back a biting remark about that little traitor, “And what was she doing here?”

Another sigh from Draco, “She wanted to let me know she and Theo are expecting. They didnt want me to find out through The Prophet,” he muttered, dropping his head into his hands. 

She hated seeing him like this, his body slumped forward, defeated. Narcissa looked at the fireplace, her anger deepening. It was the wrong move to wed Draco to the younger Greengrass sister. Narcissa had told Lucius that the chit was already involved with the Nott boy but Barford Greengrass was more than ready to sell his daughter off to the highest bidder, and the Nott boy wasn’t it. 

But no, Lucius was convinced with enough time, Astoria and Draco would grow to love one another. And— evident in his history— Lucius didn’t have the best decision making skills. 

So the two wed right after Draco’s 8th year in June of 2000 in the Malfoy garden right before his birthday. Astoria was young, yes but she was a lovely bride, just not a happy one.

Draco had assured Astoria and Nott in the early days of their marriage that as long as they were discreet, they lovers were okay to galavant around. The only exception from the contract was that Astoria had to try to conceive an heir for Draco, and as uncomfortable it had been for them, Draco and Astoria met once a month for years on end to try and fulfill the contract.

It was only recently— after fifteen years of marriage without a child— that the marriage was annulled. 

Narcissa knew the younger witch was taking potions. She was a smart girl, and Astoria knew that if she carried the Malfoy heir, she would never be able to be with the one she loved most. Narcissa could commend her for the patience, and in another life, Draco and Astoria would have gone on well.

Draco on the other hand, was relieved. Narcissa could see right through her son. Even in the early days, she could see something in his eyes. There was someone else and Narcissa knew it. She had tried to probe around to find this someone, but she found nothing. 

Astoria and Draco didn’t love each other. It wasn’t a secret, not in the slightest. At least, not in their home.

But now, after the two years Draco had been divorced, he still refused to even speak to another eligible witch. To build a family of his own.

No. Draco was alone, and whether he chose it or not, it was his fate.

Narcissa huffed, pulling herself out of her own head. Draco stood and straightened himself before leaving her standing in the drawing room that still haunted her nights.

“Tell me when dinner is ready,” he muttered. 

The witch let the silence over take her in that moment, playing back how much regret she had, all of it revolving around Draco. He had been too young to be a Death Eater at 16 and no matter how hard she fought, she wouldn’t have been able to fight that. Maybe she should have fought harder against his marriage at 19, maybe she should have hexed Lucius when she had even brought up the idea. 

She would have had another life then.

Narcissa returned to the tea room not long after Draco left, vanishing her now cold cup of tea before pouring another. She inhaled the sweet bergamot, it calming the anger in her stomach. 

The witch had just taken a sip of tea when there was a wrapping on the door. Narcissa looked curiously towards the window, the rain falling harder than before. She set her tea down for a second time only to hear Tospy, their almost ancient elf, open the door. 

“Hellos,” the elf said. Narcissa immediately stood and looked into the foyer, “Hows can I help you?”

Narcissa watched as a young man pulled his hood off, his shaggy, sopping, wet hair sticking to his face. The blond witch was sure she had seen the boy somewhere before, his face eerily familiar. 

“‘Ello,” the young man said, “I was walking when ze storm began— I don’t ‘ave anywhere else to go. I was ‘oping to find shelter ‘ere until the weather passes.”

Ah, a Frenchman. But here? At her doorstep in the middle of a storm? Narcissa stepped toward the door to demand the boy leave when the Black ring on her right pinky began to tingle. A sign that a Black was near. 

“I is not believing you,” Topsy said. 

Narcissa’s head snapped up. Topsy moved to close the door. 

Narcissa’s pureblood training failed her in that moment, and instead of helping her head cool, she panicked.

“Topsy,” she all but shouted. The elf turned to her eyes wide, and Narcissa took the moment to calm herself, “Who is our guest?”

The man’s head snapped up and Narcissa took the boy in. Yes, there was something familiar about him. The young man pushed his hair out of his face, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Did Potter have a grown son? He was related to a Black after all. Perhaps Andromeda had another child? It wouldn’t be completely impossible. Sirius perhaps? 

“No one, Mistress,” Topsy said with a bow, “I is about to send him out.”

Narcissa tilted her chin, narrowing her eyes. The boy seemed to shrink under her gaze, a soft blush coloring his tanned cheeks. He didn’t look like a Black, but then again, neither did Teddy Lupin, “What’s your name, boy?”

“Cory,” he replied with a slight stutter. He pushed his glasses as they began to slip, a small smile on his lips, “Cory Wilkins, Madame.”

Cory Wilkins, what a strange name. Narcissa couldn’t recall any Wilkins in any magical family. A half-blood maybe?

“I am Narcissa Malfoy, Lady of this house,” she said, pausing before speaking again, “Tu es Français?”

“Oui,” Mr.Wilkins said with a nod, “‘Owever, my mére is English.”

Lady Malfoy approached Mr.Wilkins and somehow, though he was taller than her, she stared him down with a most arrogant look. He stood in the doorway clutching his satchel to his chest. 

Perhaps he didn’t know who the Malfoy family was. The disgraced pure-blood family who couldn’t even entertain a bride long enough to produce an heir. 

“Come in from the storm,” Narcissa said, “a young man has no business standing in the rain.”

Mr.Wilkins gave a small bow. His lips moved awkwardly trying to form his words, almost exaggerated, “Merci, Madame. I’m sorry to encroach on your evening, eet ‘as gotten difficult to see in ze rain.”

“It is a rather dreadful storm,” Narcissa agreed. 

Topsy extended her arm for Mr.Wilkins to give her his robe. The brunet awkward peeled off wet fabric, from his shoulders and deposited it apologetically in the small creatures hands. Narcissa chuckled at the sour look Topsy gave their guest. With one more up and down, Topsy snapped her fingers drying Mr.Wilkins in an instant. 

“You’s mustn’t ruin me Mistress’s carpets,” The little elf said before disappearing. 

The boy opened his mouth, but shut it quickly, looking up to Narcissa shyly. Narcissa looked the tall young man over, and despite the state of his clothes, he was dressed sharply in dark pants and an oxford. His hair, however was an entirely different story all together; righteous curls a halo around his head, bright and springy. There was, however, something odd about his eyes, they glimmered in the firelight, bright but hidden. Familiar but not. 

“Come into the other room,” the Lady of the house said, “we’ll have tea.”

Narcissa glided to the tea room, knowing the boy was behind. She settled in her spot on the lounge and motioned for the boy to sit across from her as she poured him a cup. “Drink, it wouldn’t do for you to get ill now, would it?” 

“No, Madame,” Mr.Wilkins said.

The boy made himself comfortable, setting his bag on the ground by his feet. He sat with his back straight and shoulders relaxed. He looked around the room, his eyes eventually finding the room across the hall— the drawing room. 

Narcissa set the teapot down and watched different emotions play across the young man’s face before going carefully blank. He turned back to the blond witch, his cheeks a slight pink. 

Mr.Wilkins reached for his cup, taking a long sip, “This tea iz lovely.”

“Oh, thank you, it’s my favorite blend,” Narcissa responded.

Narcissa shifted in her seat, preparing to question the boy when a throat cleared. 

“Cissa, dear, the elves have announced dinner,” Lucius said, pausing halfway into the room, “who is this?” He asked, nodding towards their guest. 

Mr.Wilkins shot up to his feat, almost choking on it under Lucius’s gaze. Merlin the boy was tall. 

“This is Cory Wilkins,” Narcissa began between sips of tea, “he decided that a walk in the middle of a storm was a wise idea.”

“I didn’t mean to,” the young man muttered. 

“Oh yes,” Narcissa began, humor in her voice, “because wizards often accidentally take a walk when the worst storm in years comes to Wilshire.”

Lucius looked down his nose at the boy, “And you decided to let him in?”

Narcissa scoffed, “Instead of what? Letting him drown on our grounds? What would the Ministry think? I don’t know about you, Lucius, but Azkaban wont suit me in my old age.”

Lucius’s lips curled upward, “Always the logical one, my dear,” the older wizard cocked his eyebrow at the counter boy, “Mr.Wilkins was it? You are more than welcome to dinner, lest you drown in the garden.”

“Merci, monsieur,” Mr.Wilkins whispered, “I would be ‘onored.”

Lucius offered his arm to Narcissa, which she took with a smile letting the eldest Malfoy guide her out of the room into the smaller dining room— the larger being boarded up for almost two decades now. 

Mr.Wilkins followed, walking in Narcissa’s peripheral, his eyes sparkling as he took in all the glory of Malfoy Manor. The tall walls and wide windows left no room to doubt the family’s aristocracy. They turned the corner and were welcomed by the savory aroma of beef wellington and roasted sprouts. 

Lucius escorted Narcissa to her seat, the left seat closest to the head of the table, gesturing for Mr.Wilkins to take the seat next to Narcissa, which he did with a smile. 

“Topsy,” Narcissa called.

The little elf appeared to her right, “Yes, Mistress,” she said with a little bow.

“Make sure Draco is down,” Narcissa said, “it’s impolite to have everyone waiting.”

Before the elf even had a chance to pop away, soft footsteps approached the dining room. Draco walked towards the trio, “There’s no need, mother,” he said taking his usual seat to the right of Lucius and sighed, “Topsy had already called for me.”

Draco reached for his napkin and draped it over his lap, his eyes drifting from Lucius, to Narcissa and finally resting on Mr.Wilkins. The middle aged wizard rested his wrists on the edge of the table, “Who is this?”

From the corner of her eyes, the witch could see their guest stiffen, his shoulders becoming ridged, his fists curling in his lap, hands slightly shaking. 

“My name iz Cory Wilkins,” he began, his voice slightly shaking, “I was stranded in ze rain. Madame Malfoy was kind enough to allow me to stay.”

Draco nodded, “I see, thank you for waiting for me.”

Lucius snapped his fingers and four identical plates of beautifully cooked beef wellington appeared on the table. The eldest Malfoy filled Narcissa’s cup with elf-made wine before filling his own. Draco preferred Firewhiskey. 

“Would you like a drink, Mr.Wilkins?” Lucius asked, the bottle still in his hand. 

“Merci, but no,” Mr Wilkins said, “I do not drink.”

Narcissa’s lips curved upwards, “Is that so?” she said, “I would imagine a young men wouldn’t mind a drink every now and again.”

The boy’s cheeks grew a bright scarlet, “I ‘ave in the past,” he whispered, laying his napkin on his lap, “but I ‘ave found that I react much like my mére. Wine ‘its her very quickly.”

Lucius raised his fork and took a bite of dinner, Narcissa following his lead. Mr.Wilkins seemed to relax in his seat, he cut his dinner into need squares, chewing fully before swallowing. He ate as though he grew up with proper etiquette, a cultured background. 

“So you are French,” Draco began, his dinner left untouched, “I assume you go to Beauxbatons Academy.”

Mr.Wilkins swallowed before answering, “Oui,” he answered, “I just graduated last month.”

“Congratulations,” Draco said. Their guest responded with a nod, “But, I still don’t understand what you are doing in Wilshire.”

Narcissa gasped, “Draco, how rude.”

“Honestly, son,” Lucius scolded. 

Draco took a long sip of his Firewhiskey, “It’s odd is all.”

Mr.Wilkins nodded, “I took a portkey but eet did not take me where I thought. I just turned 17 and my apperation license for England iz not ready yet. I didn’t want to get in trouble even if it was storming.”

Draco narrowed his eyes and hummed, “I see. And you happened to stumble on Malfoy Manor.”

Narcissa sent him a scathing look, which Draco ignored. Her son might have been 36 but he— like always— acted like a child after Astoria’s visit. 

“Oui,” Mr.Wilkins replied, “eet was ze closest home I could see. Ze was a blue light, and I followed it ‘ere.”

Draco hummed again, “A blue light?”

“Oui. I think eet was a trick of ze light.” 

Draco asked nothing else. 

Mr.Wilkins took a bite from his plate, the science in the lesser dining room almost deafening. Draco slowly started to work on his own plate, taking slow bites between sips of whisky. 

“Do you know plan on staying in England?” Lucius asked, folding his hands. 

An emotion Narcissa couldn’t catch flashed over the young man’s face, “Oui, monsieur,” he whispered, “most of my family is ‘ere, I only grew up in France because my mére wanted a new start after the war. Too many bad memories I gather.”

Narcissa looked over the man, his teeth working on his lower lip, picking at the skin there, his hands were yet again shaking slightly. 

Lucius nodded, his brows furrowed, “Many left after the war, I’m happy that you have decided to return.”

“Oui, my family is ‘appy as well,” the young man said, “I know my mére iz ‘appier ‘ere.”

Draco, who had yet to take his eyes off the boy refilled his tumbler with amber liquid. Narcissa, who set her fork and knife down turned her full attention to the boy. 

“You speak of your mother but not your father,” Narcissa said, “is he not with you?”

Mr.Wilkins dabbed the corners of his lips, finished with his dinner. The plates before them vanished, replaced with bowls of pudding and fruit. 

“I ‘ave never met ‘im, madame,” he replied, “my mére raised me on ‘er own.” 

“Strong woman,” Narcissa said, taking a small spoonful of chocolate pudding. 

The brunet pushed a grape around in his plate, “Ze strongest person I know,” he muttered, “I don’t think I’ve met anyone stronger.”

Lighting flashed, thunder clapping in the background. Draco flinched, he never did well when thunder and lightning were involved. 

“Perhaps you should say here tonight,” Narcissa said, “even taking the floo in this weather can be dangerous.” Narcissa didn’t wait for an answer, instead turning and calling for Topsy. 

“Yes, mistress?” Topsy asked. 

“Prepare a room for out guest,” Narcissa said, “he’ll be staying her to weather the storm.”

Mr.Wilkins smiled, and there was a pang in Narcissa’s chest. Her ring tingled, this time stronger. The boy’s smile; it was a Black smile, one that lit up the room.

“Merci, Madame Malfoy,” he said, “I am very appreciative.”

Lucius gave Narcissa a curious look. Draco froze, his brows furrowing in recognition as he tried to connect the dots. 

“Of course,” Lucius said, his tone almost betraying the curiosity he felt, “Let Topsy show you to your room, call for her if you need anything.”

Mr.Wilkins nodded, his curls bobbling as his head moved. He stood, following the little elf up the stairs, his bag clutched to his chest, pushing his glasses up. 

“Lead the way, ma’am,” Mr.Wilkins said with a bow. The little elf blushed took the boy’s hand, pulling him with her. 

Draco waited a moment before he stood, exiting the dining room with his tumbler of whiskey. 

“I’ll be seeing you, mother, father,” the younger Malfoy said before disappearing as well. 

Lucius leaned back in his chair, his eyes on Narcissa. He didn’t speak until he was sure Draco was gone. 

“Is he what I think he is?” Lucius said, his voice low.

Narcissa set her hand on the table, her ring now glowing softly. Lucius covered Narcissa’s hand with his own, squeezing it softly. 

“Potter maybe?” Lucius said, “Does he have a son this age?”

Narcissa shook her head, “He said he doesn’t know his father. But Lucius, we need to know.”

The rest went unsaid, but it would be solved tomorrow. Lucius stood, offering his arm to Narcissa which she took happily. He led her to the family wing, towards their bedroom to rest.

“Draco was snappy,” Lucius said when the couple was finally wining down for bed, “Did something happen?”

Narcissa sighed, slipping her jewelry off onto her nightstand, “Astoria is pregnant with the Nott heir. She told him today.”

Lucius sighed. The guild weighed heavily on the eldest Malfoy. His son unable to find someone new, refusing a mistress. Draco was alone with no one but a bottle of whiskey. Narcissa knew that her husband didn’t mind the end of the Malfoy line. No. That didn't matter as much as Draco having nothing other than himself and the bit, dark mansion. 

Lucius cleared his throat, “And he hasn’t made any indication of—”

“—No,” Narcissa interrupted, “and I’m not sure what’s stopping him from just exploring.”

Lucius pulled back the duvet, and slid in. He rested his back against he headboard, “Oh, Draco.” 

Narcissa slipped in next to Lucius, “We’ll figure it out, dear.”

Lucius, the impatient man, huffed and dimmed the lights, burying himself under the warm blanket. Narcissa roller her eyes. Merlin, Malfoy men liked to sulk.


	2. Chapter 2

Like all Malfoy men, Lucius was not one to rise early in the morning, nor was he the most pleasant to look at when his hair decided not to participate in the morning. In all honesty, Lucius looked more like a rat than a man, but that didn’t mean Narcissa didn’t love him despite his rodent looks in the wee hours in the morning. 

Narcissa sashed away to the bathroom before Lucius commandeered it. She took her time brushing out her hair, pining it up so not a hair was out of place. 

While Lucius was finishing his morning routine, Narcissa instructed the house elves to ad a fourth plate for their guest, which the elves did eagerly. 

It wasn’t often that the Malfoy’s got visitors, and a visitor staying the night? An unseen sight. 

Eventually, Lucius emerged from the en suit, looking ever the pure-blood patriarch. Narcissa was quick to finish dressing, giving Lucius an expectant look to finish. They had a guest and some snooping to do. 

Merlin, how Narcissa missed snooping. 

Halfway to the lesser dining room, Lucius paused. Not too far ahead Mr.Wilkins what staring up at a painting, his face split into a wide grin. 

“Mr.Wilkins?” Lucius said, obviously interrupting whatever trance the young man was in. 

“Mon dieu!” the brunet gasped, jumping half a foot in the air, “I apologize, ze painting ‘ere, eet iz of a painting Lord Armand Malfoy and e’s dagger, eet iz said ‘e slayed the last basilisk in France! Extraordinaire!”

The boy’s eyes were swimming with wonder, though they still looked odd to Narcissa. Mr.Wilkins leaned closer to the painting, examining the detail of the dagger. The small twists in the handle, the Malfoy insignia carved into the blade itself. The painting, who had his chest puffed out in pride rambled on in french about the adventure, the boy listening to it with his full attention, writing everything down in a little journal. 

“Why yes,” Lucius said after Armand’s portrait was finished talking, the boy’s attention on the living Malfoy, “the dagger is now held on display in my son’s study. It’s in almost perfect shape.”

“Mon dieu,” the young man said, his mouth agape. Mr.Wilkins turned back to look up to the paining then back at the painting, “A piece of ‘isotry such as the dagger still in once piece.”

Armand’s portrait nodded, “If you ever want to chat, please feel free to stop by.”

“I would be ‘onard, monsieur,” Mr.Wilkins said, “eet would be a one in a life experience.”

Narcissa gave Lucius a look before chuckling, “We should get going,” Narcissa said, “breakfast will get cold.”

Mr.Wilkins— Cory, Narcissa told herself— nodded. He stuffed his journal in his pocket and walked on, taking in every portrait as the walked down the hall. Lucius shook his head, but before the pair could follow, Armand stop them. 

“There is something about that boy, no?” the portrait said.

“There is,” Narcissa said, “we’re very curious to see where it goes.”

The portrait nodded, “Very good.”

Narcissa and Lucius followed behind Cory, who had stopped by the portrait of Abraxas Malfoy, this time talking about the evolution of the flying broom. 

“Do you fly?” Lucius asked, slowly leading Cory from the portrait. Everyone and their grandmother knew that once Abraxas started to talk about brooms, he would never stop.

“Oui, I played quidditch as Seeker,” Cory said, “I almost played professionally en France. I chose my curse breaking apprenticeship in Gringrotts instead.”

Lucius nodded, “That’s a drastic change.”

Cory’s lips pulled down, his eyes shooting towards the floor, “Eet iz what I needed to do, my mére is ill, and I was ‘oping to find a way to ‘elp.” 

Lucius’s eyes softened, “I’m sorry.” Narcissa squeezed Lucius’s forearm. 

No matter what one may have said about Lucius Malfoy, no one could say he didnt deeply care about family.

“Eet’s alright, I’m getting somewhere with my research,” Cory said, “I am ‘opeful.”

Narcissa nodded, “Well, that’s good to hear,” she said. The rest of the trip was left in silence. 

Just as Narcissa expected, the dining room was empty; neither hide nor hair of Draco to be seen. Lucius took Narcissa to her seat, pulling out the chair for her. Cory sat beside her, and the three of them sat in silence. 

After some time passed, it was evident that Draco wasn’t meeting them for breakfast. Narcissa snapped, breakfast appearing before them. 

“How is it you know so much about darker objects?” Narcissa asked. 

Cory set his utensils down, “My oncle works with dark objects, I would read ‘is books when I went to visit. Eet’s the ‘istory that interests me. Where zings come from, where zey go.”

Lucius hummed, “I can understand that.”

Narcissa steered the conversation towards quidditch, watching the two talks about the up coming world cup and the sudden change in coaches for the Bulgarian team. Cory was just as animated about quidditch as he was with ancient objects. Simple discussion turned into something a little more heated when the topic of who would win came up. The long wizard stuck to his wand and declared that France would win, Lucius on the other hand, was sure that it would be England. 

“Oh Lucius,” Narcissa muttered, “let’s move this conversation to the tea room, I believe the elves are waiting to clean the table.”

Lucius stood, and rounded to where the young man sat. He gave a strong pat on the back of Cory’s shoulder, encouraging him to stand. Lucius all but dragged the boy out of the dining room, explaining the history of quidditch at Hogwarts and the development of the international teams over time. 

Again, Cory listened not uttering a sound until Lucius was done, only the did he ask questions. That would send Lucius in a completely different direction, backtracking and adding information he had forgotten. 

Narcissa couldn’t help but smile. It had been years since she had seen Lucius in this state. Draco had long ago been disenchanted with his father, and she was loth to admit there were some unresolved feelings regarding the marriage. 

The Lady of the house called for tea when the conversation made best another turn. 

“So tell me of your family,” Lucius began, “you said your mother and father were both from England. Did they go to Hogwarts?”

“Oui. My mére iz a muggleborn. First witch of her family,” Cory began. Lucius seemed unfazed by the new information, instead, he leaned in closer. It had been years and their prejudices had long been laid to rest. “My pére… I ‘ave never met ‘im but I overheard my oncle mention ‘e is a pureblood. Most of my family are people my mére befriended over the years, but eet’s mostly just us.”

“Ah,” Narcissa said, handing the young man his cup of tea, “Have you ever thought about reaching out to your father?”

Cory looked down at his cup, fragrant tea perfuming the air. The rain slowed outside, the droplets only pattering against the windows. 

“I know very little about ‘im. My mére ‘as only ever mentioned ‘im when I ask— ‘e’s memory saddens ‘er.”

Lucius took a sip of tea, and Narcissa did the same, both watching the boy. Cory took a sip of his own tea, savoring the taste. He turned his head and looked out the window and Lucius and Narcissa took the opportunity to exchange a look. 

A hidden heir with a muggleborn— how scandalous.

“Having tea, are we?” 

Three pairs of eyes turned to the entrance where Draco stood closely examining the scene. 

Narcissa looked over Draco. Well, at least he wasn’t drunk, she thought to herself. “Come and join us,” she said, “Cory was just telling us about his family.”

Draco sat beside Narcissa on the lounge, pouring himself a cup of tea. His eyes racked over Cory, slightly narrowing before he occupied himself with spending an obscene amount of jam on his toast. 

Lucius on the other hand dived in head first into another conversation about The Hand of Glory, Cory adding that it would be a useful object for law enforcement to have. It was as if they were in a different world, separated from everything else. 

“There’s something that he’s hiding,” Draco whispered next to Narcissa. 

Narcissa turned her attention to her son, blinking up at him, “What is it, Draco?”

Draco sighed, “I don’t know what it is, he reminds me of—” he cut himself off, lips pulling down at the corners, “— he’s just familiar.”

Draco took a slow drink of his tea, exhaling slowly. He nibbled on his toast and just watched. Narcissa followed his lead, watching silently. 

“Draco,” Narcissa said, hesitating as she drew her son’s attention. 

Draco dint move, but she new he had his attention. 

“He’s a Black,” Narcissa said just loud enough for the blond wizard to hear. 

He went ridged, the muscles in his shoulders stiffening. Draco’s eyes darted to Narcissa’s, his grey burrowing into her light blue.

Lucius stood suddenly, “Cory, my boy,” he said to the young man, come with me. Lucius led Mr.Wilkins into the foyer to point out a painting of the earliest image of Malfoy Manor. Narcissa could hear Cory shoot off questions whenever Lucius paused to take a breath. 

“That preposterous,” Draco hissed. 

Narcissa raised her hand, pointing at her ring, “I’m sure, Draco.”

Draco touched the ring with his index fingers, “Perhaps Aunt Andromeda’s grandson? He’s a Black.”

The blond witch shook her head, “Edward’s nearly 19, and last I checked, he’s a Hufflepuff.”

Draco set his jaw and stood, “I’ll be in my study,” he said.

Narcissa grabbed Draco’s wrist, “Draco, we need to figure this out. If he’s a Black then—”

“— Mother,” Draco said, “you’re ring can be wrong. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Before Narcissa could say another word, Draco was gone. Thunder rumbled in the distance. 

The rest of the day went on in the same manner. Draco had yet to be seen since tea, taking his lunch and dinner in his study. Lucius spent most of the day talking about history and magical object. Narcissa hadn’t seen that spark in him in ages, or at least not since the Dart L— Voldemort— showed up on their doorstep. 

Narcissa just listened, chiming in when Lucius was going on a tangent that ran on for too long. Cory, on the other hand, listened with bright eyes, taking in every ounce of information thrown his way, scribbling in that journal. Narcissa was sure that by the time that the storm had passed, that the young man couldn’t have any pages left.

Dinner came and went much like lunch did. It was the only time Lucius stopped talking enough for Narcissa to ask questions. Nothing too probing. The boy was born October 13th 2000. His mother fled to France in June. 

His favorite color was yellow. 

His favorite class was between charms and potions but his least favorite was divination. 

Lucius has also listened with his full attention, and the when Cory went on a little rant about the quality of Bicorn horn for a proper polyjuice potion. The Malfoy patriarch met Narcissa’s eyes, they must find out who this boy was.

It was Topsy who interrupted the dinner, explaining that it was well into the night and asked if they desired anything else for the night. Cory’s yawn was answer enough.

Lucius insisted he stayed for the night, that the storm was still much too dangerous to travel in though the rain was now a soft patter.

Cory muttered his thank you’s, sniffling another yawn. Narcissa chuckled and instructed Topsy to escort the young man to the guest quarters. Cory gave a grateful smile and followed the old elf up the stairs, who now had a little habit of blushing at the young man.

Lucius gave Narcissa another look, taking her hand and pulling her towards the library. Surly the library would have something. Bent over books, for half the night, looking for any indication of a divergence in the Black family tree. A small branch that might have broken off and sprouted another tree all together. 

Narcissa speed books over the floor, closing her eyes and recounting the Black family tree as far back she could remember. Lucius would follow along, ticking off names as she went along, looking for just one person who may have diverged. 

Nothing. 

For hours they looked and nothing.

No Wilkins family, and certainly no one named Cory.

Narcissa cursed the fact that she didn’t have access to the Black Family Tapestry in Grimmauld Place. Surely the answers would be easy to find there. All they would have to do was look for Cory’s name on the tree and track backwards. 

Narcissa sighed. 

Perhaps she should owl Potter to see if he had any illegitimate children right after the war. Perhaps Bellatrix had a child? Narcissa shuddered. Not that, anything but that. 

It was the wee hours of the morning, Narcissa considered finishing up for now, maybe getting an hour or two of sleep before breakfast. 

The Lady of the Manor climbed a ladder in the far corner of the library to fetch another book when there was a pop of apperation. Narcissa heard Topsy’s rushed words, but they didn’t make much sense. She rushed downs, her dragon hide boots clacking against the ground. 

Lucius was wide eyed, trying to dicier what the elf was saying.

“Topsy,” Narcissa spoke, “please slow down. Explain so we can understand.”

Topsy, the poor thing, took in a deep breathe and wailed, tugging on her ears, “Master Draco is finding Mr.Cory in his study! Master is angry!”

Lucius was the first to bolt out of the door, “What in Merlin’s name,” Narcissa heard him mutter on his way out. 

Narcissa picked up her skirts and rushed after him, “Topsy, come with us,” she called over her shoulder to the trembling elf, “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

Narcissa made quick to hop up the stairs behind Lucius, trying to keep up with the long legged man who decided to go two steps at a time. Once Lucius reached the top of the stairs, he didn’t wait for his wife— which Narcissa huffed at. 

Merlin, perhaps she should start exercising more, she might even take up dancing at that hag Parkinson’s school.

There was a crash down the hall, a flash of red light, then another flash.

Lucius pushed into the room, and froze. Narcissa could see why; the coffee table had toppled over, books and paper sewn about, the walls would need to be repainted, and there was and loud ringing going on and off repeatedly. But most shockingly, Draco stood over Cory, wand drawn, eyes narrowed.

“Monsieur,” the young man said from the floor, his hands raised in surrender, his back slunk her his shoulder, “put your wand down, s'il vous plaît.”

“After you tell me who you are,” Draco said through his teeth. 

The ringing stopped only to start again. The fire in the fireplace crackled. 

“Draco, what are you talking about?” Lucius asked, slowly making his way towards Draco.

Narcissa told Lucius— She warned him— the isolation would make him mad. Narcissa moved closer, finding the course of the ringing in a small glowing box device thing. 

“He broke in to steal the Dagger of Armand Malfoy,” Draco said, “I knew you weren’t who you said you were.”

The tip of Draco’s wand glowed. 

The ringing stopped, and restarted. 

The apparent intruder’s eyes darted to the device. He swallowed thickly. 

“Not to steal.” The little traitor said, “Just to borrow.”

If Narcissa was one to clutch her pearls, she would have done so. How dare he come into her home and sneak his little way into her husbands heart with his stupid desire to learn. 

“Liar,” Draco said.

She was wrong. The ring was wrong.

Narcissa will have it melted post haste. 

The device made another sound, this time a loud ding.

“I need to get that,” the little weasel said, pointing at the glowing box. 

“Who are you?” Lucius asked, reaching for his own wand, “Why did you try and steal the dagger?”

The young little rat scrunched up his nose, “Borrow. And I was going to bring it back!” The device rang again, “I really need to answer that.”

The firelight cracked again and this time, Narcissa caught it, the soft twinkle of a glamor. She unsheathed her wand and pointed it at the boy. 

“Finite,” she said clearly, her wand arm steady. 

The three Malfoys watched as the boy’s his eyes lightened to a familiar— striking— grey. His face sharpened. He looked familiar. 

He looked like them.

“Merde,” he cursed, looking up to the Malfoys in horror. 

Draco let his arm fall to his side. Lucius leaned against the desk for support. 

“Who are you?” Narcissa asked, twisting the ring on her pinky. 

The device started to make noise again. 

“My name iz Scorpius Granger,” the boy— Scorpius— said, his accent still as strong as before, “I am your son.” He finished, looking straight at Draco, “Now may I please pick up ze phone?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me at LillsBills on tumblr!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***Final warning: Character Death.***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi everyone!! Firstly, thank you to everyone who had wither followed, favorited, or commented on this fic. I really appreciate it! 
> 
> Since the ending of this fic is a sad one, I am considering writing a fourth alternative chapter to give people a happy ending, let me know if any of you are interested.
> 
> As always, enjoy!
> 
> And also, I'm sorry.

The room was silent except for the buzzing. Lucius and Draco both paled by several shades, and Narcissa was sure that she didn’t look much better. 

“What?” Draco said dumbly, “You’re my what?”

The boy on the ground was shaking slightly, his hands trembling, “You and Hermione Granger. She was ‘ead girl en your final year. She said you were ‘er friend.” 

“Oh fuck,” Draco muttered, dragging his hand down his face.

“Draco,” Lucius whispered, “is this possible? Is he—” he didn’t finish. It was obvious, his eyes, that pointy nose and chin. 

A Malfoy. 

A Malfoy out of wedlock.

With a muggleborn.

The scandal.

“May I pick up ze phone?” Scorpius said, pointing at the device. 

Scorpius— a constellation— what a beautiful name.

Narcissa nodded and the boy dived for it, fumbling with it for a moment before putting it to his ear. 

“Oncle ‘Arry?” the boy said into the device. 

Narcissa gave Lucius a look. 

“I will be ‘ome soon,” he replied. 

Draco dropped his wand, burying his head in his hands, taking a deep breathe. 

“When?” Suddenly Scorpius was on his feet in an instant, “I’m coming!”

He fumbled with the device and stuffed it into his bag. He dug into his pocket and pulled out his wand, pushing past the Malfoys. Narcissa quickly grabbed Armand’s dagger and pocketed it in her robes, her dress catching on her shoes as she ran behind the men. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Draco asked, following the 17-year-old down the halls.

The portraits started to rouse from their sleep, questioning why the living Malfoys were all up and more importantly, who the Malfoy-esque boy was. 

“My mére iz at St. Mungo’s,” he said, jumping steps down the stairs. 

“Turn into the drawing room, we’ll take the floo,” Lucius called. He quickly called Topsy to inform her they were leaving before flicking his wrist and igniting the fire in the fire place. 

The weather had calmed enough for safe travel. Just barely. 

The youngest went first, calling out the hospitals name, Draco disappearing in the flames immediately after. Lucius pulled Narcissa in with him, the two traveling together. The world spun around her. She held on to Lucius as they finally landed.

Narcissa scanned the waiting area, only to see a flash of Draco’s white blond running towards the patient room. Lucius, not bothering to stop at the reception desk, ran after their son and grandson. 

They turned right.

Then left.

Lucius in his uncharacteristic panic, almost tripped on the second left turn. A most undignified sight. 

When Scorpius slowed down, so did the Malfoys. The young man, straightened himself, running his hand through his unruly hair before walking down the hall. 

Near the last for to the left stood the one and only Ronald Weasley, pinching the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath. 

“Oncle Ronald,” Scorpius gasped, “Where iz—”

The red-head looked up, his eyes red and swollen, “Scorpius,” he rasped, “where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere.”

“Oncle,” Scorpius said cautiously, “why are you crying?”

Mr. Weasley grasped Scorpius’s shoulders, squeezing them, “She doesn’t have much time, Scorp,” the older wizard said, his voice breaking on the younger man’s name. 

“Wha—” the young wizard began, “non. They said she ‘ad time!”

Narcissa watched Mr. Weasley crush Scorpius to him, wrapping his arms protectively around him, cradling his head to his chest. 

“She’s been asking for you,” Narcissa heard the red-head whisper, “you have to be strong for her.”

The boy nodded, sniffling, “Oiu, for maman.”

Weasley pulled away, using his thumbs to wipe the boy’s tears, “Go on, Cory, I’ll be here.”

Scorpius swallowed, hesitating before stepping into the hospital room.

Weasley’s eyes met Draco’s and the world slowed, “Malfoy.” he said, jaw clenched, “Decided to show up now have you?”

Draco, who’s eyes were glued onto the going ons in the room said nothing. Narcissa watched from over his shoulder as Scorpius approached the bed where Hermione Granger sat up against the pillows. Merlin, what had she become? Her bones were pressed against her flesh, her skin hollow and ashen. She was little more than a living corpse. 

But when her eyes landed on Scorpius, they lit up, pride filling them. That’s where Narcissa had seen that light before. In that instant, she wasn’t the sickly woman, but a mother who had no fear. 

Lucius wrapped his arm around Narcissa protectively, gripping her shoulder in an attempt to hide just how badly his hands were shaking.

“Scorpius.” Granger wheezed, a smile lifting at the corner of her lips, “Cory, my precious boy.”

Scorpius took his mother’s hand gently, pressing the back of her hand to his cheek, pressing his lips to her shallow skin. 

“Je suis désolé, maman,” Scorpius said, his lip trembling. 

“Oh hush,” the brunette in bed whispered.

Weasley, who until that moment had been by watching as well, used his body to block the Malfoy family’s line of sight. 

“Malfoy,” Weasley whispered, “why are you here?”

Draco’s jaw was tense, his lips pressed together. Narcissa knew he was struggling to occlude, and his reddening eyes betrayed he true emotion. 

So this was her. 

Why in Merlin’s name did he never tell them.

The two old classmates stared each other down, the tension thick in the air.

“Mr. Weasley,” Narcissa spoke, “what’s wrong with her, why is she so ill?”

Weasley glanced over to Narcissa, his eyes still cold, “A curse. From the war,” he said flatly. 

Narcissa’s eyes darted to Lucius, “Was it Bell—”

“Yes,” Weasley hissed, cutting her off ,“don’t say her name. All we can do is keep Hermione comfortable and saying that— that witch’s name will do the opposite.”

Narcissa nodded. She clutched her hand to her chest. 

Draco stood frozen in place, his eyes burrowing into the next room. 

From behind Weasley, Potter stepped out the room when someone started to sob softly. Potter looked to have aged a decade since the Prophet’s picture of him last week. Potter closed the door behind him clearing his throat. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,” he said, taking off his glasses to clean on his sleeve, sniffling, “Malfoy.” He said, nodding to Draco. The-Boy-Who-Lived patted Weasley on his shoulder, “I’m going to find a healer for an update. She’s in a bit of pain so a potion wouldn’t hurt.”

Weasley nodded, pulling out his pocket watch and flipping it open, “Ask about breakfast for Hermione. Maybe we can get her to eat now that Cory is here.”

Potter hummed, stepping around Draco. He retuned with a healer in tow, a chart as thick as Scorpius’s notebook in his hands. The healer was an older man, his lime-green robes in impeccable shape. 

“Mr. Potter, I don’t know what else to say,” the healer said, head buried in the chart, “We can’t give her more potion, they can cause complications.”

Potter huffed, “Forgive me, Healer Inkwell, but Hermione is dying. You said it yourself, she doesn’t have much time left. We just want her comfortable. ”

The healer— Inkwell— sighed, “If she eats, we can administer more potion. Not something too strong but it’ll be enough.”

Potter gave a stiff nod, shaking the healers hand before he walked off to the next patient. 

“That’s settled,” Potter whispered to Ron. 

Lucius dropped his hand from around Narcissa, “Mr.Potter, surely there is something we can do.”

Weasley sneered at the older wizard, his eyes burning, “We can let Scorpius spend time with his mum, and you can leave.”

Potter shook his head, putting his hand on Weasley’s shoulder, “We’ve taken every route. Every potion, curse breaker, and enchantment you can think of. We have nothing left. All we can do is follow Hermione’s wishes to be around the people she loves.”

The-Boy-Who-Lived’s eyes watered. He cleared his throat and pulled out a handkerchief to clean his eyes. 

Lucius snorted, “Surely—”

“No. Our last hope failed,” Potter said, “And Hermione asked us to stop. All she wants is rest. And. She. Will. Have. It.”

Narcissa looked down to her hands. She was trembling, the tips of her fingers numb. “What did he want with the dagger?” Narcissa asked.

Weasley shook his head, “What are you talking abou—”

This time, Draco snorted, “The Dagger of Armand Malfoy. It slayed the last basilisk in France. Mr. Wilki— Scorpius—” he corrected, voice cracking, “was trying to steal it.”

Narcissa slipped the dagger out of her robes, the light catching on the ancient heirloom.

Potter swallowed thickly, his eyes on the dagger. Weasley’s teeth dug into his bottom lip. 

“A basilisk?” Harry whispered, his fingers twitched, Narcissa noticed, “That was the final ingredient— it was the only—” he stopped himself, “doesn’t matter. It won’t work”

Lucius’s jaw clenched, “How do you know?” he asked, enunciating every letter, “How do you know it wont work?”

“Harry, we have to try,” Weasley whispered, tugging on his friends sleeve, “She might still be strong enough.”

Potter turned, his eyes blazing, “Did that women in there look like she’s even strong enough to lift a spoon let alone handle a potion that strong? Ron we talked about this. She doesn’t want to keep trying.”

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” Weasley whispered, “Harry, please. We can make the potion and if she doesn’t want it, we’ll toss it out. Harry.”

A mosaic of emotion— hope, fear, guilt, grief— crossed Potter’s face. The wheels in his head began to turn and he reached out his hand to Narcissa, “Give me the dagger. I’ll find Healer Inkwell and we’ll finish the potion. Ron, find Bill, we’ll need him.”

Weasley’s face broke out in a grin, “Got it, Harry.” And just like that, he was off, running down the hall, dodging patients and healers alike to get to the floo. 

“I would like to speak with her… if you don’t mind, Potter,” Draco asked, his voice low. Vulnerable. 

Harry nodded, “I need to talk to you and Mr.Malfoy first. We need permission to use the dagger. Has to be on paper.”

The three men walked off leaving Narcissa alone in the hallway. She turned to the closed door, pushing it open.

Shame. That’s all that filled Narcissa as she walked into the room.

She walked up to the bed, the women in it barely able to keep her eyes open. Scorpius, who sat on her left side had his head buried against Miss.Granger’s leg, her hand still clasped in his. His breathes came evenly, hiccuping every other inhale. Miss.Granger used her free hand to play with the boys hair, smiling as her son fell into a deeper sleep at her ministrations.

Merlin he looked like a small child clutching to his mother. 

“Miss.Granger,” Narcissa whispered, drawing the woman’s attention, “how are you feeling?”

The woman smiled, “Better now that Scorpius is here.”

Narcissa smiled pulling out a chair. She sat, folding her hands in her lap, “I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through. I’m sorry my family had a part to play in it.”

Miss. Granger gave a small smile. 

Narcissa’s chest burned, so she looked away, down to her white knuckled hands..

“I want you to have this,” Narcissa pointed at the Black family ring that still sat on her pinky, “You birthed the Black lines heir. You should have had it a long time ago.”

“Mrs.Malfoy—” Miss.Granger began, but she didn’t finish. 

Narcissa pulled the ring from her finger and reached out her hand for Miss.Granger’s who untangled it from her son’s hair. Her wrists were so thin Narcissa was sure with the slightest touch they would snap. Gently, she slid the rind onto the younger witch’s left hand pinky. There was a slight glow, family magic filling the room, then nothing. 

“There,” Narcissa said, “it’s right where it belongs.”

Miss.Granger opened her mouth to speak when there was a knock at the door. “Mother… Granger… May I come in?” Draco said. 

The brunette witch nodded and Narcissa stood, “I’m going to find your father, Draco. I won’t be long.”

With a silent nod from her son, Narcissa stepped out. Not venturing too far from the door, she stood close to listen. To understand. 

The room was dead silent.

Even with Miss.Granger being so close to her end, she was still a Gryffindor. 

“How did you find out?” She asked.

Draco gave a wet chuckle, “He came to the manor in the middle of the storm… the only reason we found out was because the fellytone went off when he was trying to steal the dagger.”

Narcissa peaked in, Miss.Granger’s brows were raised, “The dagger of Armand?” she said, “Of course, just like his uncles he’ll never stop looking.”

Draco reached over and put his hand on her knee, “He’s got some Gryffindor in him.”

“Some Slytherin too,” She said, humor evident. 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about him, Granger?” She heard Draco ask. 

“Oh, Draco,” the witch wheezed, “I was so frightened. I didn’t know what to do. You chose her. I know I told you to but you chose Astoria and I couldn’t hinder your chance at happiness. ”

Narcissa turned her head and peaked inside, Draco had taken her seat, his head bowed. “I was happy with you, Granger, you are— were— and always will be the one who touched my heart first.” Draco swallowed thickly, “I— I looked for you everywhere and I couldn’t find you. No now knew where you were. Granger—”

“I was hoping I wouldn’t be the last to see your kind heart,” Miss.Granger interrupted. She paused contemplating her next words. “Maybe now, Scorpius could see the man I fell involve with all those years ago. But I wrote you a letter… I— it’s to be delivered after I pass. I didn’t want him to be alone.” 

The way the woman’s voice broke at the end almost destroyed Narcissa’s resolve. 

“He won’t be,” Draco whispered, “we have him.”

A weak chuckle, “Good.” A wheeze. A Pause. “I’m cold, Draco.”

“Here.” There was a wobble to Draco’s voice, a small gasp for air at the end of it. Draco took the witch’s hands in his, arranging himself next to her in bed, wrapping himself around her. Anchoring her, and himself, to the living world. 

“Don't leave him, okay?” she whispered to him. 

“I never.” 

A mediwitch stepped into the room, a dark blue potion in her grasp. Draco took it, whispering sweet nothings to Miss.Granger as he lifted the vile to her lips. 

Narcissa stepped back into the room. The air was stale, like everything had been sucked out of it; nothing but Scorpius’s soft breathing and Miss.Granger’s wheezing. Draco cupped the witch’s cheek, stroking it with his thumb. 

It wouldn’t be much longer now. 

Miss.Granger gave a small smile. Draco leaned in close and pressed his lips to her temple.

“Do you want me to wake him?” He whispered against her skin. 

She shook her head weakly, “Let him sleep.”

Narcissa drew out her wand and called her patronus. It was weak and barely there but it floated off, “Tell Lucius it’s time.”

“Our son needs—,” Draco gasped, holding her tighter, “We need you here, Granger, don’t—”

“You have each other,” she said, her words slurred.

“Bye, love,” Hermione whispered, “I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll see you next time,” Draco rasped out back.

Another kiss then the ring on Miss.Granger’s finger glowed again as her chest stopped rising. Draco held on to her his shoulder shaking. 

Lucius appeared at Narcissa’s side from no where, Weasley, Potter, and the healer rushing past them.

The healer cast his spell and called time of death. 

Potter gently roused Scorpius from his sleep, and the sound that left him echoed through Narcissa’s entire being. 

Weasley and Potter sandwiched the boy between them on the ground, rocking him as he grieved. Draco stayed by her side stroking her cheek until the healers came for her, taking her body and leaving the bed empty. 

She had still been smiling when they carried her away.

When Scorpius’s tears finally slowed, Weasley let go, “I need to call Mum, she’s going to want to know. Lab should still be there… I’ll tell Bill not to come after all.”

Harry nodded.

Draco stood, going to Scorpius’s side, lowering himself onto the hospital floor. 

“We’ll get through this together, alright?” Draco whispered to the boy, running his hand through his curly locks, “I’ll be right here.”

Scorpius nodded, sniffling. His eyes were swollen red, lip quivering. “Promettre?”

“I swear.”

The rain beat against the windows, thunder and lightning approaching once again. The storm had returned with a vengeance. 

Draco all but carried Scorpius back to the manor, both Weasley and Potter agreeing it would be best. Draco sat with the boy until he fell asleep, stroking his hair and telling him storied in his broken French. 

In the days after, Scorpius would be found in the flat he shared with his mother, curled up in her bed. Eventually, Draco spent most of his time there as well, helping Potter and the Weasleys pack her belongings. Grieving with them. Narcissa would often join them, packing most of her personal items by hand. It felt wrong to use magic. Too final.

It was in one of her draws that Narcissa discovered a box with an undetectable extension charm. It was filed with everything Draco would ever want to know about Scorpius; pictures of his first steps, pictures of his first days to Beauxbatons Academy, a small journal listing every family tradition they shared from baking cake on birthdays to eating chocolate on sunny days. But it was the last thing that almost brought Narcissa to tears; Miss.Granger— Hermione— in a hospital bed, her forehead damp with sweat, hair stringy and heavy, holding a new born Scorpius. 

And for Scorpius, Hermione left a box of letters for every occasion. Every Christmas, birthday and milestone one could think of. 

When you fall in love. 

The first Christmas after I’m gone. 

When you and your father don’t agree.

Your wedding. 

It went on and on, years for birthdays and holidays written out until Scorpius was at least forty.

For you and your father after I’m gone.

A smaller, but similar stack of letters for Draco was bound with that final letter. Letters to Potter, to the Weasleys. There was even one for Narcissa. For Lucius. 

Narcissa put the box aside and finished packing, and throughout, she found herself brushing away tears. 

The days passed and things calmed. When the packing was done and the funeral was over, Narcissa approached Scorpius and Draco with the last gift Hermione left them. 

That was the first time she heard Scorpius and Draco laugh together, when they were huddled by the fireplace in the library looking over the hundreds of pictures. Scorpius explained every picture with extraordinary detail, his eyes lighting up describing the world he grew up in, bringing the light from his past into Draco’s future.

When Narcissa made a trip to Grimmauld Place to drop off a box, she stopped by the tapestry, Scorpius Granger elegantly stitched into the wall. The witch reached out touched the delicate work. The Black and Malfoy’s would die with Draco, but their legacy would live on in Scorpius. 

When the dagger was returned to Lucius two weeks after Hermione’s death, he locked it away. Not even Armand’s portoirt argued. 

Then, hours after, when the potion was finished, it was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me on Tumblr at lillsbills

**Author's Note:**

> Connect with me on Tumblr at LillsBills!


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